a dustland fairytale beginning
by burnmedown
Summary: "The first time she sees him get in a fight it takes her breath away, 'cause it's like watching her own daddy all over again." Eliot's mother does her best to raise a strong-willed and slightly unusual son.


**Title:** a dustland fairytale beginning  
**Author:** katriel1987  
**Category:** Gen, preseries  
**Rating:** mild T for language  
**Words:** 1690  
**Summary:** "The first time she sees him get in a fight it takes her breath away, 'cause it's like watching her own daddy all over again." Eliot's mother does her best to raise a strong-willed and slightly unusual son.  
**Notes:** Yeah... not sure where this came from. I know we'll never get a canon description of Eliot's childhood, and that made me want to play with it—explore how he ended up being a gruff, kick-ass fighter who wears earrings and cooks like a pro and sometimes braids turquoise beads into his hair.

Title from the song by The Killers.

* * *

Jenny's little boy is different from the beginning. He's a smart baby, mostly quiet (except when he's pissed—good _God_ does that boy have a temper). His temper's not what worries her about him, though; tempers come standard-issue in her family and she's good at dealing with them.

What worries her starts with the fact that he doesn't want his hair cut. At first she thinks he just hates haircuts, which is pretty normal for a toddler; but eventually she figures out that he doesn't want his hair short. When she puts off haircuts because she hasn't got money, when Eliot's hair gets long and starts curling around his ears, he's happy as a clam. He plays with his hair, combing it forward with his fingers, arranging it different ways. Every time she gets it cut, he sulks for days. She feels bad about it, but around here, little boys don't _have_ long hair. Eliot's daddy is dead, him too young to remember, and she doesn't want people to start talking. She knows life'll be hard enough on him as it is.

Then there's the fact that he likes jewelry. She hangs on to denial until he's about four years old, when she starts having to go to his room and retrieve her bracelets and necklaces while he's sleeping. He likes the simple stuff, which is mostly what she has—silver wrist-cuffs and sturdy chain necklaces. He must know there's something not normal about it, 'cause he never lets her catch him wearing them, but she knows he puts them on just to see how he looks.

Round these parts, little boys don't have long hair. They sure as hell don't wear jewelry.

That's when she really starts worrying.

She watches him with other boys, trying to tell if he ever seems a little _too_ interested in them. In a lot of ways, he's all little boy: rough and tumble, dirt and sticks and war games. The first time she sees him get in a fight it takes her breath away, 'cause it's like watching her own daddy all over again. He was a Marine, and the way he fought was all grace and sudden explosive violence, like a dance that ended with blood and teeth all over the ground. Eliot's got that, and even as she runs in to scold him, to pull away the other little boy and tend his bloody nose, she's fiercely glad. If her little boy's _different_—she tiptoes around all the cruel terms people use—at least he'll be able to defend himself.

(She doesn't give a damn, really, who her kids fall in love with, just as long as they do right by 'em. Problem is everybody _else_ will care a whole lot.)

Turns out she's got nothing to worry about on that score, 'cause Eliot likes girls and girls sure as hell like Eliot. He's a looker, with those big blue eyes and that sly grin and the dark hair he still refuses to get cut short enough. (When he's twelve years old he saves up money for a plain silver necklace, and he wears it every day—but tucked under his shirt where nobody can see.) He's friends with the other boys, but nothing more, and by the time he's fourteen he's got his own little following of starry-eyed girls, which he enjoys more than he strictly has to.

(Jenny gives him _the talk_ a lot earlier than she did his sister—Kerry was a wallflower, pretty but shy, and she didn't grow an interest in boys 'til she was near out of high school. Eliot listens intently, not a bit embarrassed, as Jenny tells him how to stay safe. Tells him, _If you're a commitment man, then you find yourself a good woman to commit to and do right by her. If you're not, I ain't got a problem with that—just be careful, and make sure you never break any girl's heart by makin' her think she's gettin' more than you can give._)

By the time Eliot hits high school, he's started cutting his hair as short as the other boys, and one day she finds his necklace neatly coiled in his top drawer when she's putting clothes away. When he comes home from school that day, she looks at him and wonders just how much of himself he's giving up, and if there'll be any left in the end. He still fights—wrestling and martial arts and boxing, and real fights when there's a reason—and he's still _damn_ good at it. She figures that part of him ain't going away. It's the other part, the part that loved long hair and jewelry and helping her cook, that he's buried. He's quarterback now, popular, and she wonders if he even realizes that he's cutting away pieces of himself to fit the mold.

The day he tells her he's taking Home Ec, she doesn't say a word, just hugs him as hard as she can. He's a head taller than her now, broad-shouldered and strong, and he pats her awkwardly on the back. He's probably making faces where she can't see, but right now she don't care. All she really wanted was to know that her boy was still in there somewhere, hiding, just waiting for the right time.

* * *

Jenny gets sick right before Eliot graduates from high school, and it's bad. She's got no money to pay for treatment—no money for much of anything, ever since Mike died, but she's always found a way to make ends meet. Until now.

Kerry's been married for three years. They lost their first, a little girl, to crib death at two months old, but they've got a little boy now and they're both working long hours just to pay the bills. Robert's a good man, wants to help, but Jenny tells him in no uncertain terms that he's responsible to put food on the table for his wife and son, not go into debt paying his mother-in-law's medical bills.

A couple weeks after the doctor calls with a diagnosis, Eliot sits Jenny down and tells her that he's joining the military.

"Don't get me wrong," Jenny says, "I'm proud of you for this. But I wanna know it's your choice. I wanna know you ain't doin' it 'cause you feel you have to."

Eliot meets her eyes and says, "It's my choice, Mama. I _want_ to do this."

And she believes him, because this is Eliot—he's good at just about anything he tries, but she thinks he'll never be better at anything than he is at fighting.

* * *

Two years later, when Eliot comes home to say goodbye, it's been over a year since he could last tell Jenny where he was stationed or what he was doing. He sends word when he can, but never anything specific. She worries, 'cause that's her job, but she understands _classified._

And then one day, near the end, she looks up from her hospital bed and there he is. He's got a scar above his lip, and his eyes have the same haunted wartime look Jenny recalls seeing on her own daddy. She gets a sudden, sharp pang of missing Mike, some nineteen years later, because he died young and she lost everything of him then. He was gentle and thoughtful and kind, all soft edges, and their son is nothing like him.

"Hi, Mama," Eliot says. He leans over and hugs her like he thinks she'll break (and maybe she will). Then he sits down at her bedside and takes her hand. His hand is half again as big as hers, rough and calloused, and there are scars on the knuckles that weren't there last time she saw him.

Kerry and Robert have gone out to get supper; the room is quiet except for Jenny's struggle to breathe. She looks up at Eliot, fighting to make her eyes focus. His hair is shorter than she's ever seen it and it's been years since he wore any jewelry unless you count dog tags.

"Hey," Eliot says. His voice cracks, and he clears his throat. "Hey, don't cry, Mama. It's okay. I'm right here."

She nods, just a brush of head against pillow. "I know," she says.

There's something she needs to say to him, but she can't quite recall what it is. She isn't gonna tell him what to do with himself; her kids have got to make their own path in life. She's been telling them that since before they were big enough to understand what it meant. But there's something, something else...

Jenny must drift for a minute then, 'cause next thing she knows Eliot's patting her cheek and saying, "Mama?"

She coughs. "Yeah. I'm here."

Eliot's hand on her face is shaking. He has such big hands now. She remembers those hands new and wrinkled, almost too tiny to be real. Remembers those fingers covering his eyes for peek-a-boo, or playing with his curly too-long hair. All grown up now, both her kids. She's glad she got to stick around for that.

"Sorry," she manages to say. "Just a little sleepy."

Eliot nods.

(They both know she'll be dead by morning.)

She finds his hand, squeezes it as hard as she can (which ain't very). She's remembered what she needs to tell him.

"Eliot, you're a good man," she says. "You are a _damn_ good man." She looks up, catches the slightest shake of his head, and finds she still has a little bit of temper left. "Don't give me that crap. You're a good man... like your grandpa. You _are._ And I want you to promise me somethin'."

"What?" he asks.

Jenny's getting out of breath, but she has to finish. "Don't ever let anybody take that away from you," she whispers.

Eliot pats her arm twice, with his rough, scarred, strong hands. And just before she closes her eyes, she hears him say softly, "Yes ma'am."

_end_


End file.
